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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27876642">In Sickness and Health</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/startrekkingaroundasgard/pseuds/startrekkingaroundasgard'>startrekkingaroundasgard</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>31 Days of Ficmas 2020 [4]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Black Widow (Movie 2020), Hawkeye (Comics), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alien Virus, Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff, Hijinks &amp; Shenanigans, Hurt/Comfort, Mention of Death, Mild Angst, Sickfic, breaking quarantine, silliness</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 14:42:18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,927</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27876642</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/startrekkingaroundasgard/pseuds/startrekkingaroundasgard</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>When Nat gets sick, Clint looks after her and cheers her up in an unusual way.<br/>BWB - E3: "what do hugs feel like?"</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Clint Barton &amp; Natasha Romanov, Clint Barton/Natasha Romanov</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>31 Days of Ficmas 2020 [4]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/2035468</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>33</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>In Sickness and Health</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Clint kicked open the door and wandered in, balancing a bowl of soup and an obscenely large mug of tea in one hand and a box of experimental medication in the other. Barely five steps into the room, a single toe over the line projected around her bed, Natasha stirred beneath the quilt.</p><p>    “I told you already,” she croaked, somehow still managing to be authoritative while sick and hiding beneath the bed covers. “Stay behind the line. Leave the soup and go away.”</p><p>    “You’re being ridiculous, you know. And that’s coming from me so it must be bad.”</p><p>He couldn’t see beneath the covers – no matter how hard he prayed, the universe had yet to grant him with x-ray vision; probably for the best, if he was being honest – but Clint knew in his gut that Natasha rolled her eyes. As she shuffled out from beneath the duvet cocoon, a tangled nest of red hair poking out from the warmth and safety of her bed, Natasha muttered, “I’m under quarantine, Clint. That means no interacting with anyone until bio have finished their analysis of the virus. You shouldn’t even be in here without a hazard suit.”</p><p>    “Tash -”</p><p>    “Don’t argue, Hawkeye. Those are the orders and you should follow them.”</p><p>Clint set the offerings down on the ground and shoved his hands in his pockets, swaying on his feet as he debated breaking the rules entirely to go and join her in bed. “I just wanna cuddle my girl and look after her while she’s sick.”</p><p>    “What do hugs feel like, again? It’s been a whole three days, I almost can’t remember.” Her attempt at humour was somewhat marred by the thick coughing fit that followed. That then led to a series of intense sneezes that could have rivalled the Big Bad Wolf. Natasha wiped her nose on her sleeve and grimaced at whatever strange coloured snot now covered her pyjamas.</p><p>Yesterday, it had been blue. The day before, orange. The lab were in the process of determining whether the changes were the natural course of the alien pathogen or whether it was a sign that it was mutating into something else entirely. The techs had tried to explain the ‘fascinating’ genetics to Clint but it went completely over his head. Either way, Clint knew they didn’t understand the first thing about it and he hadn’t been able to sleep from worry since.</p><p>Oblivious to his concern, or more likely choosing to ignore it, Natasha pushed herself up against the headboard, the effort visibly taking its toll on her. Even around him of all people, she still had trouble showing weakness and Clint averted his eyes to give her a moment of privacy as she struggled to lift her arms and fluff the pillows beneath her.</p><p>She soon settled for leaving the pillows the way they were and sunk down into the soft, feathery cushions. Tangled strands of red hair clung to her face, even that small exertion enough to bring her out in a cold sweat. “We don’t know how bad this virus is, Clint. I won’t let you get sick too. Please, just let me wallow and watch shitty day-time TV until I’m given the all clear.”</p><p>    “What if you aren’t?”</p><p>Natasha frowned. “What are you saying, Hawkeye?”</p><p>    “The boffins have no idea what they’re dealing with,” Clint said softly. She had to know already, in her heart if it hadn’t been explicitly confirmed already, but voicing the words still squeezed his chest like a vice. He turned his back to her, unable to meet her shaking gaze. “What if you don’t get better?”</p><p>Silence hung for a few seconds before Natasha’s stern tone startled Clint from his gloomy thoughts. “You listen here, Barton. No alien virus is going to kill me and if you so much as think that way again I will kick your ass.”</p><p>    “How are you gonna do that without breaking quarantine?” The pillow hit him square in the back of the head, bouncing off somewhere to the side. “Don’t worry, I’m gonna go burn my hair off now in case you’ve infected me.”</p><p>    “Decontamination showers work just as well.”</p><p>    “Fire is more fun.”</p><p>    “You’re awful.”</p><p>Taking the hint, Clint started back towards the door. He paused at the threshold. From his pocket, Clint pulled a packet of super soft tissues and tossed them across the room. They landed perfectly in Nat’s lap and earned him another soft smile. “Love you, Tash.”</p><p>He blew her a kiss and slipped out before she could launch anything else at him – especially something with a sharp corner, like one of the many books around her bed. Clint knew from experience how those hurt. Even though he thought it an overreaction, when Clint got back to his room he stripped down and tossed his clothes into a special basket and had FRIDAY run decontaminants through his shower, knowing that it would make Natasha happy.</p><p>***</p><p>In the days that followed, Natasha only got worse.</p><p>Bioscience finally stumbled upon antibodies to fight the virus and, after a speedy round of tissue testing, decided that it was worth the risk to inject her with the cure. They had been nothing but confident when the spoke to Natasha but one technician was brutally honest with Clint: there was only a fifty percent chance that it would work. Natasha was strong and they had faith that she would fight her way back to health but they wanted him to remain realistic about her chances.</p><p>With that in mind, the next time Clint came bearing soup and medication, he also brought with him a large box full of exciting things to cheer up his girlfriend – and simultaneous distract him from the very real possibility that Nat wouldn’t make it. If, god forbid, these were going to be their last days together then Clint would make them as memorable as he could.</p><p>Natasha smiled weakly as he dragged in all the goodies, her skin almost as pale as the white sheets that surrounded her. Her lips were chapped, her veins a dark web protruding from beneath the surface. Her usually shiny hair was lacklustre, dull and dry in a tight ponytail on the side of her skull.</p><p>Despite all of that, though, there was a fierceness in her eyes, a strength that Clint had always admired since the first day he’d been sent to kill her. A conviction to do what was necessary regardless of how much it hurt her. It was one of the reasons he’d made the call he did; he knew that SHIELD could turn that determination into something that could work for them.</p><p>It almost hurt to see it turned on him now, to see her suffering so much in order to present an upbeat facade and ease his own pain. He loved her more than anything else in the world for it. Even now, she was looking after him, sharing the weight of his sorrows. What he had done to deserve the love of such an incredible woman, he would never know.</p><p>A wide smile on his face, so forced that his cheeks hurt, Clint sat on the line that divided Natasha from the rest of the world and said, “Okay, so, I’ve got all the usual stuff from Bio but also a few other things too.”</p><p>    “Hence the box.”</p><p>    “Hence the box. First, soup and tablets. I have enough for me too, so we can eat together for a change.” He poured out a small amount into his own bowl then, much to Natasha’s amusement (as he hoped it would be), Clint lifted one of his smaller bows from the box and a special arrow. A super strong magnet attached the end of the wire to her door before Clint shot the arrow across the room. Natasha winced as it embedded itself in her wall but was more intrigued than concerned.</p><p>He tested the strength and stability of the wire by hanging from it, swinging back and forth like a hyperactive monkey before finally deeming it stable. Natasha watched on the entire time with an amused expression plastered over her pain, until Clint lost her grip when it became genuine.</p><p>Clint attached a motored device to the wire then dropped a super long, super bend straw into the thermos of soup. He balanced the thermos inside the hanging carriage and pushed it across the room with precisely the right amount of force to have it stop over Natasha’s head, the straw hanging down at the perfect height for easy drinking.</p><p>    “Should I be impressed?” Natasha asked, although Clint was content to believe that she absolutely was.</p><p>    “Drink your soup, woman. Sam made it today so if it sucks it’s not my fault.”</p><p>Sam’s soup was, in fact, delicious. Annoying so. Clint was going to have to ask for the recipe. That man was perfect at everything. What really mattered, though, was that Natasha enjoyed it and emptied the entire thermos. It was a good sign; she hadn’t been able to eat anything at all yesterday. That fifty-fifty chance was suddenly looking a lot brighter.</p><p>Using the same system, Clint proceeded to deliver Natasha herbal tea, drop a chocolate biscuit into her lap and then, earning him a very confused glance, a length of tinsel. “What’s this, Hawkeye?” Her voice was stronger after the food and fluids, and a little of the strain had eased in his presence too.</p><p>    “It’s December.”</p><p>    “I am aware.”</p><p>    “It’s the first Friday of December.”</p><p>    “Ah.” He had expected her to be excited but instead the opposite happened; Natasha’s face fell. Softly, she said, “Clint, I can barely turn over without my insides feeling like they’re on fire. I can’t decorate a tree with you.”</p><p>Quick to reassure her, Clint pulled an air canon from the box. “That’s why I got you this.”</p><p>    “You’re mad.”</p><p>    “Only a little bit. You in?”</p><p>What followed was perhaps the most ridiculous thing that the pair had ever done, and that was saying a lot when you considered their history of international hijinks. Clint set up a large plastic tree in the corner of her room and then they took it in turns shooting tinsel and decorations at the thing until what remained was a severely damaged tree and a very large pile of broken decorations around its base. Most impressively, though, Clint managed to shoot the star up onto the top and, by some miracle, have it stay there so at least the tree, covered in shattered glass and pieces of shiny plastic, had one thing right about it.</p><p>Natasha sunk back into her fortress of pillows and stared lovingly at the tree, as if it were the personification of everything good and beautiful about the world. She turned to Clint with only love in her eyes and said, “Thank you, Clint.”</p><p>Wiping the infuriating tears from his eyes, unable to fathom how he could cope with life without her in it, Clint said, “Get some rest. I’ll be back later with dinner. You know where I’ll be if you need anything else.”</p><p>    “Flirting with Sam to get your hands on the recipe for that soup?”</p><p>    “You see right through me, don’t you?”</p><p>    “It was great soup.”</p><p>    “Not better than mine, right?”</p><p>Natasha shook her head, a blatant lie if ever he’d seen one. “Never. Yours will always be the best.” Clint left her to sleep with a smile on his face and a warmth in his heart, convinced beyond doubt that Nat would be okay.</p>
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